


First Christmas

by muttthecowcat22



Series: YOI Event Oneshots [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 12DaysofVictuuri2017, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Fluff, Happy Birthday Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Post-Canon, Russian Nationals, St. Petersburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 16:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13170351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muttthecowcat22/pseuds/muttthecowcat22
Summary: Victor had never felt more winded, worn to the bone than he did when he stepped off the ice. He had won by a single point over Yurio.  It hadn’t been that close for him in years; he felt . . . weaker, older than he had in years.  Yuuri being there to catch him, though, beside Yakov at the boards, young and beautiful and losing sleep to be there for Victor, it had made him feel so . . . whole.  He couldn’t remember ever having that before, someone to just catch him.Victor celebrates his first birthday together with Yuuri.





	First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For Twelve Days of Victuuri. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

“Would you – uh –“ a light cough, “like to go eat somewhere?”  And, there Yuuri was, asking again.  He looked cute, wearing his glasses, hope glowing in his eyes behind them. 

Victor’s heart sank.  Yuuri had already mentioned it in passing once or twice that day (“We could go out to eat tonight in celebration.” And, in the taxi back to the hotel while gripping Victor’s hand, “I can’t wait until tonight; I’m so glad I’m with you.”)

But, this was one superstition, tradition, call it what you will, that Victor could not force himself to let go of. 

“No, I’d rather not,” Victor said and watched Yuuri’s face fall. 

Why – why did this have to be so important to Yuuri?  He was trying to take Victor out for his birthday on _the day before_ his birthday.  Yes, they would be traveling to Saint Petersburg for most of the next day and didn’t really have time to celebrate Victor’s actual birthday, but he had already explained it to Yuuri.  He never celebrated his birthday early, no one in Russia did, just in case something happened to him before the actual day, and Yuuri had respected that, until he had apparently forgotten about it completely. 

“Oh.”  Yuuri looked peeved for a moment, lips pressing into a line, before he deflated and cast his eyes down to the folded hands in his lap.  “Okay . . . we’ll just stay in then.  I can go pick up food from that place we saw across the street?  Or, maybe, we can order room service?”  He looked up, his eyes finding Victor’s again, a smile on his lips – a forced smile.  He seemed tired.

He probably was tired.  As soon as Japanese nationals had ended, Yuuri and his new gold medal had immediately flown to Yekaterinburg to watch Victor’s free skate. 

Victor had never felt more winded, worn to the bone than he did when he stepped off the ice. He had won by a single point over Yurio.  It hadn’t been that close for him in years; he felt . . . weaker, older than he had in years.  Yuuri being there to catch him, though, beside Yakov at the boards, young and beautiful and losing sleep to be there for Victor, it had made him feel so . . . whole.  He couldn’t remember ever having that before, someone to just catch him.

But, now, Yuuri fumbled with the door, preparing to go out into the cold to pick up food that he hadn’t wanted.  Victor had disappointed him too.

“Wait,” Victor called, “I don’t want to go out to eat, but . . . we could go walking?”  He could handle that, to just go walking.  Victor was actually quite proud of himself – it was a fantastic compromise. “You know, see the Christmas lights.  I heard there’s an ice display in one of the squares.”

Yuuri looked back at Victor, eyes wide before a small smile pulled at his cheeks again.  “Yes, that sounds nice.”

They wandered out into the streets, the night air sharp, but tolerable.  Yuuri kept Victor’s hand wrapped tightly in his own despite the thick layers of their gloves.  They walked past a gloomy park and many bright store fronts as Victor lead them towards the historic area of the city. 

As they strolled towards a large open square, the city’s Christmas tree flashed into view, made entirely of multicolored Christmas lights.  A rather large crowd of pedestrians wandered through the life-sized ice sculptures scattered throughout the square and around the base of the tree. 

Yuuri and Victor passed through ice cabins and frozen warriors.  The colored lights illuminating the sculptures glimmered off of Yuuri’s clear, dark eyes.  They ended up pausing at the far side of the square, where the crowd had thinned, to admire the lights from a distance.

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand.  “I know you didn’t want to come out tonight, but thank you, Victor,” he said, “I’ve never had someone to spend Christmas Eve with before, and I . . . just thank you.  It means a lot to me.”  He looked down at their joined hands for a moment before peeling off Victor’s right glove and kissing the ring on his finger.  Yuuri’s lips were as warm and smooth as Victor’s finger was cold.  Victor shivered as Yuuri kissed up the back of his hand and across his palm.  He cradled Victor’s palm to his cheek and whispered “Thank you” once more before slipping the glove back over Victor’s hand.

Oh.

So, it wasn’t about Victor’s birthday but Christmas Eve?  Victor felt so . . . dumb.  He gripped onto Yuuri’s hand ever tighter as they walked further down the street, beneath the Christmas lights draped in the trees along the sidewalk.  With his other hand, he googled ‘Christmas Eve in Japan,’ and his heart sank further upon seeing the first result titled “Romantic Christmas Eve Ideas.” 

Victor had lived in Japan for over half a year; of course Yuuri would expect him to know . . . or to at least not assume that everything had been concerned with his own birthday.

All was not lost, though.  Their romantic Christmas Eve could still be saved.  While Yuuri admired the lights around them, Victor scanned the street for a suitably romantic upscale restaurant.  He didn’t find a single one, not even as they rounded the block to begin making their way back to the hotel.  Victor continued looking, nearly desperate and so focused that he stumbled when Yuuri halted beside him.

The red glowing letters above them proudly displayed . . . KFC?

“I’m still hungry.” Yuuri squeezed his hand.  “And I know you must be.  Would you like to eat here?” Yuuri asked, his eyes catching Victor’s, the large red letters reflected in them.

“You want to eat at KFC? As in Kentucky Fried Chicken?”

Yuuri nodded his head, a wide smile covering his face, his cheeks lifting his glasses, as if he was laughing at Victor.  “At home, its, well, we always eat KFC on Christmas Day.  Nearly everyone does.”

“Really . . . why?”

“I, uh, I don’t really know, but it’s always fun.  Don’t you want to go in?”

And, it was by no means the five-star dinner that Yuuri deserved, but Victor wasn’t about to refuse.  So, that was how he found himself eating a Katsuki Yuuri seasoned Kentucky fried chicken breast and bucket of fries.

Victor picked the last few fries out of the bucket, twiddling one between his fingers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know about,” he said, “all of this.  I should have.”  He glanced at the ring on Yuuri’s finger that sparkled in the dim fluorescent lights.

“I kind of figured that out.”  Yuuri looked over the rim of his glasses, smiling.  “It doesn’t really matter to me, though.  I’m just glad to be with you.”

The kiss they shared that night under the glowing red letters tasted of grease and ketchup and Yuuri’s full lips and smooth skin. 

Victor hoped Yuuri loved it as much as he did.

\--

Their flight left early that morning, before the sun rose. 

Victor had never paid much attention to his birthday before.  It normally fell directly in the middle of nationals and was all but forgotten about. It was just a day to mark how much older he had grown each year. 

With Yuuri there beside him, though, his birthday actually felt nice, in a way.

Yuuri had forgotten to bring along his neck pillow from Hatsetsu, so when he succumbed to his mounting sleep deprivation on the plane, his head fell onto Victor’s shoulder.  Yuuri weight rested heavy and warm on Victor, tethering him to reality.  Victor threaded their hands together and measured the passing hours with the rise and fall of Yuuri’s chest.

Yes, his birthday actually felt nice, . . . but also tenuous, as if it might blow away like the breaths out of Yuuri’s lips.  He wished the flight could have lasted longer.

By the time they reached Victor’s apartment in Saint Petersburg, it was already late afternoon.  Yuuri’s eyes scanned everything, taking in the entirety of Victor’s personal life from the past five years in a few seconds.  He bent down to greet Makkachin, hugging her, ruffling her curls.  He looked up at Victor and his eyes held an unspoken thank you.

He shouldn’t have thanked Victor, though.  The apartment held no significance for Victor; he was more worried that it might siphon the vibrancy out of Yuuri as it had done to him.

Victor felt restless.  The doorknob rattled beneath his hand as he fiddled with the lock.

“Where are you going?”  Yuuri’s head appeared from around the corner.

“Just out for a run, need to stretch my legs.  I’ll be back soon.” He left before Yuuri could respond, his packed bags still thrown into a corner.

He ran past the Winter Palace and over Turkov Bridge, rounding the mostly deserted skating complex, as the sun sank ever lower.  He paused to listen to the calls of the seagulls over the river, all his past birthdays spent alone conglomerating into one shrill call of their own.

His phone rang, then, a call from Yuuri, checking in on him, Yuuri’s voice warm and flowing like the river in the summertime.

When Victor returned to the apartment, he found Yuuri cooking, which was odd, considering Victor hadn’t had any ingredients in his apartment when he left.

“I called Yurio, and he helped me read the labels at the store,” Yuuri said.

Victor could already see the makings of a cake sitting out on the counter. 

And, before he knew it, Yurio had walked in the door with a batch of fresh piroshki.  Mila, Georgi, several other skaters from the rink, and half the hockey team walked in after him.  Even Yakov and Lilia eventually appeared seated around the small table bordering Victor’s kitchen.  Yuuri finished icing the cake and adorned it with twenty-eight candles. 

Victor found himself at his first birthday party in at least ten years.  They toasted to a successful skating season and to Yuuri’s new life with Victor in Saint Petersburg.

And, for once, Victor didn’t feel alone.  Yuuri stayed with him, an arm around his waist or holding his hand, and all the others were there as well, not to celebrate him getting older but to just . . . be there, to let him know they cared.

That night after all the guests had returned home, Yuuri gave Victor his birthday present, wrapped in a small magenta box and a golden bow.

“It’s not much, probably the dumbest thing I could have gotten you actually,” Yuuri said, wringing his hands, “but, you know, I used to watch you when you had long hair.” He looked to the ground as a blush spread across his cheeks. “And this just made me think of you.  A lady from Hatsetsu makes them.”

Victor cupped the golden hairpin in his hands, complete with incredibly detailed enamel blue roses and pearls. 

Yuuri had cared for him so long before they ever me. 

He threaded the pin delicately into his hair, pinning his bangs out of his eyes.

“It looks . . . beautiful,” Yuuri said, smiling, brushing the hairpin lightly with his fingertips before cupping Victor’s jaw and tilting his head up for a kiss.  It felt so wonderful to be loved in that way, cherished.  Victor felt a single tear slide down his cheek.

“Victor?”  Yuuri pulled away, stroking Victor’s cheeks lightly with his thumbs.

“I’m okay . . . just, I’ve just . .”  His voice cut off as a tear slid down his other cheek.  Yuuri pulled Victor’s head into the crook of his neck, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“You know, you’re the most beautiful when you cry,” Yuuri whispered into the crown of his head.

“Yuuurii! You’re supposed to comfort me, like a normal person.” Victor mumbled into his shoulder.

He felt Yuuri smile into his hair.  “You just hide yourself away from too many people.”  He held Victor until the tears dried.

Yuuri pulled his shirt over his head, grinning, and said he’d be waiting as Victor stepped into the shower.  When Victor stepped out, he found Yuuri completely passed out, sunk into Victor’s plush bed, jetlag finally catching up with him.  Victor slipped under the sheets and wrapped his arms around Yuuri, who unconsciously snuggled flush against him.  Yuuri felt so . . . young . . . like that, his heart beating strong and slow.

Victor could imagine their future in that apartment, that room, that bed.  He had turned twenty-eight, though, another year older.  What would happen when he really did retire from figure skating? When his joints began to show the results of his harsh training?  He knew it would be soon.  In a few years at most.  He already was so different from the boy with long silver hair that Yuuri had admired, from the person he had been just a little over a year ago. 

Victor Nikiforov was dead after all.  There was no going back.  He would hold onto any time that Yuuri Katsuki would give him, and hope, pray that it never ended.

“Victor,” Yuuri whispered, yawning, shifting slightly against him, “so you survived your birthday after all?”

“That’s not how it works, but, yeah, I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment or kudos!


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